


From Moscow to Almaty

by ironicsubversion



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-03 12:59:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10967754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironicsubversion/pseuds/ironicsubversion
Summary: Yuri decides to pay Otabek a visit - not because he misses Otabek or anything, just because he wants to see Otabek's new apartment.





	From Moscow to Almaty

**Author's Note:**

> SO MUCH THANKS to tumblr user ozarugaru for the absolutely STUNNING art that inspired this work <33 you should definitely check out their other art, they're insanely talented!!!
> 
> The lyrics in this work are from "Moscow" by Autoheart!
> 
> This work is part of the Otayuri Reverse Bang.

_“It’s not hard; with you I have an alibi  
You don’t care the reason why I misapply.”_

 

Fuck, was there anything worse in the world than jet lag? Yuri was pretty sure he could answer that question with a resounding _no_ , followed by a _fuck you, world, why the fuck would you even make time zones?_ With a sigh of irritated relief equal in magnitude only to the number of hours since he’d last been able to get proper sleep, Yuri dropped his suitcase in front of the crisp-looking apartment door with a satisfying thunk. He raised a fist, rapping on the door in quick succession three times before stepping back and crossing his arms impatiently.

After a pause long enough for Yuri to feel the briefest tinge of worry and _oh shit, maybe I should’ve called ahead_ , the door swung open. “Could you have kept me waiting any longer? Move, I have to pee,” Yuri snapped at the shocked-looking figure in the doorway, pushing past him before he could respond.

“…’lo, Yuri,” Yuri heard Otabek’s amused-sounding voice from behind him as he walked away, not bothering to offer up a response as he strode through the apartment purposefully – which turned out to be rather pointless as it was difficult to stride purposefully when one didn’t know where he was going. “Down the hall, to the left,” Otabek called from behind him, sounding all the more amused. Yuri scowled before following his directions. Damn Otabek and his brand fucking new apartment. Not that Yuri wasn’t happy for his friend to finally have his own place and jealous that Otabek didn’t have to deal with stupid annoying roommates or adults breathing down his neck (hint hint, Yakov) – but it was so damn inconvenient to not know where anything was. He was used to being so intimately familiar with Otabek’s place that he was able to waltz through it like it was his own. Yuri wasn’t too concerned; he was sure he’d become just as familiar with this apartment as the last one Otabek had lived in with a couple of roommates. It was just fucking annoying for the moment.

When he stepped out of the restroom, Otabek was already pulling his (admittedly heavy) suitcase inside, shutting the door and straightening. Yuri blinked; he’d been in such a rush when he’d burst in that he hadn’t really registered anything past Otabek being present. Now, in the right frame of mind, he was able to devote proper attention to the complete fucking unfairness that was Otabek in a pair of faded dark-wash jeans and a v-neck, hair perfectly mussed in a way that was just incredibly infuriating to Yuri.

Everything about his appearance was just really fucking annoying, actually, and it had been for a few months now – the kind of annoying that made Yuri’s heart race and his face feel hot for no damn reason. They’d been friends for four years, ever since Otabek had ~~heroically rescued him~~ yanked him away from his fans like an asshole, and Yuri hadn’t felt like this for the first three, so whatever bullshit was going on now was obviously Otabek’s fault. Stupid prick.

But whatever the asshole was doing to him to make him feel so weird when they were together, Yuri had been careful not to let it affect their relationship. They still had conversations that lasted hours and extended late into the night (or early into the morning, if one of them was in a weird time zone). Yuri still texted him to bitch about Victor and Piggy being particularly annoyingly in-his-face with their disgusting cutesy bullshit, or to bitch about Yakov or Baranovskaya being especially harsh during a practice, or to bitch about – well, anything really. They still visited each other randomly when either of them had time off.

Yuri didn’t know what was going on with himself, but he’d be damned if he let it keep him from keeping up one of the most important friendships he had – not that he’d ever tell Otabek such mushy garbage.

“Yakov give you some time off?” Otabek was asking over his shoulder, and Yuri snapped out of the dumbass daze that Otabek’s stupid appearance had put him in to notice Otabek dragging the suitcase off into the spare room that Yuri’d – jokingly – demanded he get when he picked a new apartment so Yuri didn’t have to sleep on the couch when he came over anymore. Yuri felt a quick ping of guilt for leaving his shit for Otabek to take care of, and he decided to busy himself with looking around the room to cover for his lapse.

“That old man never gives me any time off,” Yuri called, eyes running over the crisp interior of the living room. He suppressed a shiver – Otabek always kept every place he lived as cold as a fucking icebox, as well as meticulously clean, a fact that never failed to bemuse Yuri. His own room always looked like a disaster area, clothes in piles that made sense to him (kinda clean clothes in one pile, clothes he could probably get away with wearing with only mild nose-wrinkling from Baranovskaya in another pile, and a pile that he’d probably only get away with wearing in the comfort of his own room until he decided to do a load of laundry in another pile), food and books and other random shit he owned to amuse himself with in his scant amounts of down time flung in random corners when he was too lazy to get out of his very comfortable bed to put them away. “Mila told him she thought my win at Skate America deserved a couple of days of break, though, and he actually listened to someone for fucking once,” Yuri continued with a roll of his eyes. Someday people would listen to _him_.

He glanced back at the door Otabek had disappeared through in time to see Otabek come strolling back into the room, a weird glint in his eye. “And you decided to come here for those couple of days?” he asked, and Yuri’s brow furrowed.

“Yeah, wanted to see your new apartment – “ and you – “Is that a problem?”

Otabek was shaking his head before Yuri could even finish the question. “No, not at all.”

But the weird look on Otabek’s face was still there, and Yuri looked away quickly, searching for anything to change the subject with. The apartment was similar to the last in that it held Otabek’s same couch and decorations and vibe, but better because there was no clutter from other roommates. It was purely Otabek. His eyes fell on Otabek’s record collection, pristinely arranged on the dark wooden shelves in one corner of the room next to an aged record player – probably the only item in the room that didn’t look like it was brand fucking new.

Avoiding Otabek’s eyes, Yuri said shortly, “Good,” and strode over to the shelves. He’d always loved looking through Otabek’s vinyls, and now seemed as good a time as any to flip through them again – even if they did play into that stupid “effortlessly untouchable cool guy” vibe that asshole seemed to just fucking love giving off.

“Have you gotten some new ones already?” Yuri asked, noting some covers he was fairly certain he hadn’t seen the last time he’d been flipping through Otabek’s collection. He heard Otabek shift behind him.

“Yeah, a couple since the last time you were here, I think,” he responded, his voice sounding closer than it had been previously. Yuri nodded absently, searching out any of the new ones. His eyes landed on a black vinyl with what looked like a weird hybrid of human and bunny or cat or something in various shades of pinkish-purple. The name “Autoheart” was scrawled in loopy cursive across the weird hybrid’s chest, and Yuri’s eyes lit up, even as he was a bit confused. Autoheart wasn’t Otabek’s typical style; Otabek usually went for the grunge bands, but Autoheart was more contemporary and (much as Yuri despised the term) _hipster_. It was a band he recalled having mentioned to Otabek that he liked listening to sometimes, but that he didn’t recall ever hearing Otabek profess a particular interest in. Yuri wondered absently why Otabek had it, then shrugged.

“I want to listen to this one,” Yuri demanded, snatching the record and whirling around to hand it to Otabek, who was standing much closer than Yuri had anticipated. Yuri’s elbow shoulder knocked into him, and Yuri was thrown off-balance (stupid Otabek and his stupid fucking broad chest). Before Yuri could do more than momentarily panic about falling into the record shelf and smashing Otabek’s collection, Otabek had reached out, hands grasping Yuri’s forearms and steadying him. Otabek offered him an easy smile.

“Okay,” he said easily, sliding the record out of Yuri’s hands without further comment and slipping across the room. Yuri stared after him, heart beating weirdly in his chest and doing his utmost to convince himself that such a physiological response was entirely normal after one had nearly fallen over into a shelf full of what he considered to be priceless commodities. Realizing he’d probably been standing there a minute too long, Yuri turned away sharply, kicking off his shoes and flopping down on the squishy couch, burrowing into the cushions to at least try to make himself a little warmer and more comfortable while Otabek put the record on.

 

_“We both know what we’ve got to do_  
Head back to where the magic grew  
Come on, let’s go  
Back to Moscow  
Irresolution doesn’t suit you”

 

Yuri busied himself with checking his phone when the first strains of music started to play, and he heard Otabek turn. He was very firmly Not Noticing when Otabek joined him on the couch, eyes fixed on his phone screen as he scrolled through Instagram. Phichit had caught yet _another_ cringe-worthy photo of Victor and That-Imposter-With-His-Name making gooey eyes at one another; this one featured the lovelorn idiots at a competition Victor was skating in, based on their attire – though Yuri wouldn’t put it past Victor to wear a fucking skintight bedazzled leotard outside of the rink just for fun, either. But Victor had definitely been skating in this photo – he was leaning over the rail at a rink with a metric fuck-ton of people in the stadium seats behind him staring at The Imposter like he was the only thing that mattered in the world. And the stupid Imposter was staring at him like that right back – ugh, those two were disgusting. And why the fuck did Phichit feel the need to document their nastiness for the whole world to see?? It was annoying, and the weird pangs he got when he saw photos of the two looking so happy together were definitely not envy, they were irritation at how gross those two were, and in _public_ , no less.

Yuri looked up to complain to Otabek about the couple’s obnoxious displays of affection, but the words got weirdly stuck. Reclining on the other end of the couch, Otabek was flipping through his phone too, dark strands of hair curling falling messily across his forehead, fading light streaming in through the window to frame his face, which was an odd mixture of concentration and relaxation as he did – well, whatever it was Otabek did when he got onto his phone. Otabek had never seemed inordinately interested in social media, and he’d said before the only person he really texted was Yuri, so Yuri wasn’t really sure what the other man got up to when he was on his phone.

As though he could feel Yuri’s eyes on him, Otabek looked up, the concentration he’d had while he’d been on his phone transferring to Yuri, and Yuri felt strangely trapped by his gaze. Soft strains of music trickled behind them, seeming to grow louder in the moment, building until the moment had a strange crystalline essence to it.

“Yes?” Otabek prompted, apparently unaffected, and the moment shattered. Yuri scrambled to pick up the pieces.

“O-oh, uh, I was – “ a confused pause as the memory of why he’d looked up at Otabek in the first place took a second to return, and then he sucked in a deep breath, returning to surer footing. He thrust his phone at Otabek, Phichit’s picture still displayed obnoxiously on the screen. “Look at this,” he commanded, and Otabek leaned forward, squinting a bit at the photo before his eyes registered his recognition.

“They look happy,” was all he said in response, and Yuri’s mouth dropped open indignantly.

“Yes, but – they shouldn’t be looking like that in public!”

Otabek raised an eyebrow, mouth twitching in what Yuri huffily registered as amusement. “Shouldn’t be looking happy?” he asked offhandedly.

“You know that’s not what I mean!” Yuri exclaimed, snatching his phone away, then holding it up and pointing heatedly at the couple’s eyes. “I mean this! They look like they’re, I dunno – “ he floundered, waving his arms in a manner meant to convey what exactly Victor and The Imposter were conveying but that mostly just conveyed his own annoyance.

“In love?” Otabek supplied unhelpfully, still looking only mildly amused at Yuri’s distress. Yuri glared at him, arms dropping.

“ _No_ ,” he growled. “A couple of fucking morons, that’s what they look like they are.”

“Well, I think they look happy,” Otabek responded, unruffled, eyes returning to his phone, and Yuri wanted to scream.

“Why are you being so impossible right now?” he grumped, huffing as he settled back into the couch, arms crossed angrily across his chest.

“I don’t see anything wrong with them being in love. They look like they’re really enjoying being together, and I’m happy for them,” Otabek replied without looking up from his phone. “To have someone who you care about like that and who cares about you like that in return is special and is something that some people only get to dream about.”

Yuri stared at him because a) that had to be the longest sentence he’d ever heard Otabek utter in the years he’d known him, and b) “I didn’t know you were such a romantic,” Yuri snickered. But Otabek’s lips turned down ever-so-slightly, a line appearing between his brows that Yuri had a perfect view of from where Otabek was still pouring over his phone; somehow, Yuri didn’t think he was reading anything on it anymore. Otabek was displaying the telltale signs of being genuinely put-out with Yuri’s comment – the signs might be small, but Yuri would recognize them anywhere.

“Not that it’s a bad thing or anything,” Yuri hastily added, though he was certain he’d _never_ be a romantic. All that affection and bullshit? Blech, not for him, thank you very fucking much. He was the Ice Tiger of Russia for fuck’s sake, and he had a reputation to live up to. Although he wouldn’t have thought Otabek would be one to put much stock in romanticism, either – Otabek wore leather jackets, rode a motorcycle, and listened to 90s grunge, was Yuri really at fault for just assuming Otabek wouldn’t be a romance guy?

Although Otabek did have this ~~perfect~~ annoying soft side to him, now that Yuri was thinking about it; he’d flown in to take care of Yuri once when Yuri’d mentioned that he had a cold a couple of years ago even though Otabek’d had a big competition a few days later, and he always kept hot chocolate in his apartment even though Yuri knew Otabek hated hot chocolate and only drank it when Yuri was around because Yuri was addicted to the stuff but pretended not to be, and he uncomplainingly listened to Yuri vent about every minor inconvenience in his life and unfailingly appeared entirely attentive… Really, Otabek had always been the sort to just quietly take care of him (and everyone else, Yuri was sure) without the expectation of recognition or praise for any good deed; he was loads more than his tough immediate appearance, and okay, maybe it was a bit stupid for Yuri to have assumed Otabek wouldn’t be a romance sort of guy, especially since they’d known each other for so long.

“I just didn’t know,” Yuri followed up weakly. Thankfully, though, Otabek finally glanced back up from his phone to offer Yuri a small smile.

“No worries,” he said easily, and Yuri knew he was forgiven.

Yuri shifted, trying to return his attention to his phone but finding that Instagram wasn’t really holding his interest anymore. He tried to flip through his phone anyway, hoping maybe if he could find something worth his attention that maybe his mind would stop buzzing so much.

“So why are you so against romance, then?” Otabek’s voice was so unexpected after their weirdly tense talk that Yuri nearly jumped at the sound. He glanced back up to find Otabek regarding him with that annoyingly penetrative gaze, even as the other man somehow simultaneously continued to look only casually curious.

“W-what?” Yuri asked, the question he’d been asked having flown out of his mind entirely.

“Why do you always respond to romance so negatively?” Otabek repeated patiently, and Yuri blinked.

“I don’t,” he blurted defensively, a reflex reaction. He scrambled for a better response. “I mean, it’s not the romance part, it’s just – why do people have to do it in public? Like they’re rubbing people’s faces in it? Not everyone wants to see someone so blatantly gaga over someone else all the time, it’s annoying,” Yuri continued, petulance infiltrating his voice no matter how he tried to keep it out. Otabek nodded sagely, like Yuri had just told him something extremely important.

“So it’s not the romance part that bothers you, but just that it’s in public?” Otabek asked, his voice still affecting the same somehow indifferent-but-still-genuinely-curious tone that Yuri envied. Yuri shrugged.

“Uh, I guess. I just don’t want to have to watch two people be stupid over each other all the time,” he responded, trying to affect the same cool interest in the conversation Otabek displayed but coming off as more irritated than aloof. Otabek smirked the slightest bit, looking amused again.

“So you’re okay with romance as long as it’s in private, then?” he clarified.

“Yeah, I just don’t want to see people acting like idiots all the time. As long as I don’t have to see it, I don’t give a fuck how people waste their time,” Yuri sniffed. Otabek chuckled – an honest-to-goodness _chuckle_. Yuri felt preemptively insulted before Otabek even opened his mouth.

“You’re such a grouch, Yuri,” Otabek said, fondness emanating from his voice in a way that had Yuri feeling really weird, just like earlier. Why on earth did he feel fucking weird around Otabek when Otabek treated him like, like – like Yuri was more than just an annoying, grumpy child, like his grumpiness was an endearing aspect of his personality rather than a “cute” side-effect of his age? It was so damn annoying, and Yuri wanted to blame Victor and Mila; they’d given him the Obnoxious Little Brother Complex, so they were the ones responsible for his weird reaction to people who didn’t treat him that way.

“I am _not_ a grouch,” Yuri growled anyway, glaring at Otabek. “I’m just…tired from the trip. I just came in from America, and I’m jet lagged, you asshole. Way to make fun of me for being fucking _human_ ,” Yuri invented wildly, affecting as much indignation and outrage at the accusation as possible.

It appeared to work, the mirthful smile on Otabek’s face shifting into an expression of slight concern. “You should probably get some rest, Yuri,” Otabek said, and Yuri rolled his eyes.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he said stubbornly, resolutely ignoring that he’d just been using that exact need for rest as his reasoning for being grouchy in the first place.

“No, you’re right, you have to be exhausted from the travel, and the time difference from here to America isn’t fun to adjust to,” Otabek said more insistently – which just made Yuri dig his heels in all the harder.

“I’m comfortable right _here_ ,” Yuri said resolutely, crossing his arms and wiggling further into the seat to prove his point. Otabek sighed.

“Well, will you at least lay down on the couch?” he asked exasperatedly, though Yuri knew Otabek knew him too well to have expected anything different. But it was a reasonable enough request that required minimal effort on Yuri’s part, so Yuri just shrugged, flopping over sideways on the couch so his legs rested across Otabek’s lap. He picked one of the brown checkered pillows off the couch, punching it into shape and shoving it under his head.

“Happy?” Yuri challenged, poking his head up just enough to lock eyes with Otabek. Another small smile flashed across Otabek’s face before the other man nodded once, returning his attention at last to his phone. Yuri flopped back down onto the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. He really _was_ pretty tired; time zone differences weren’t fun for most people, but Yuri always felt especially wiped after particularly bad time zone changes, and Otabek was right that America to Kazakhstan wasn’t exactly an easy adjustment. Already, he felt the heaviness of the toll the flight had taken on him sweeping through his muscles, tugging him down into the couch.

 

_“When in Moscow I just want to fold you up  
And keep you warm, keep you warm.”_

 

The minutes ticked by, the strains of the Autoheart record twirling through the apartment. Yuri felt heavier and heavier – but something was keeping him from sinking entirely into sleep, his brain chattering away, running through his and Otabek’s conversation with an annoyingly fine-toothed comb. He huffed in annoyance, rolling onto his back and feeling Otabek shift in response on the other end of the couch. He kept his eyes closed in the hopes that maybe, just _maybe_ he could trick his body into thinking it was asleep and just relaxing into it already, for fuck’s sake.

A few more minutes slipped by, and it didn’t seem to be working all that well for him. His mind wouldn’t stop spinning, ever aware of Otabek’s presence on the other end of the couch. Yuri let out another annoyed sigh, eyes snapping open and brow wrinkled in annoyance as he stared at the entirely uninteresting ceiling. It was just too fucking cold, that’s what it was. It was just Otabek’s stupid warm-natured-ness keeping him from sleep, that was all.

“You okay, Yuri?” Otabek’s voice was low, warm, a little concerned.

“Can’t sleep, too cold,” Yuri responded shortly. Otabek was silent, and Yuri worried briefly that maybe he’d been just a bit too brusque (then wondered when the fuck he’d started caring about whether he’d been too short with someone). But then he felt Otabek shift on the couch, and Yuri felt his feet being lifted off of Otabek’s lap. Before much more than momentary disappointment could sweep through him, Yuri let out a startled yelp as a large mass passed over him and dipped onto the couch between him and the back cushions. Two arms wrapped around his waist, shifting him around like a fucking child until Otabek was able to lay beside him, Yuri tucked comfortably against his side.

Yuri smacked Otabek’s arm indignantly until it dropped away, turning to glare at the other man and – oh fuck, he was really close now. But no, no distractions, Yuri was determined to get across that he was pissed. “Don’t fucking manhandle me,” he snapped, but Otabek just raised an eyebrow amusedly.

“Sorry, thought this might be warmer for you.”

“You couldn’t have just grabbed a fucking blanket?”

Otabek shrugged. “I packed all my blankets away for the summer. Could’ve grabbed one off the bed, but I thought this would be easier. Just wanted you to be warm,” he responded, and shit, now Yuri felt kind of like a prick for even making a big deal about it in the first place.

“Yeah, well…thanks,” he mumbled, feeling his face redden. He turned away quickly, hiding his face and back pressed to Otabek’s chest with the excuse of snuggling back into the couch (and Otabek, his mind whispered traitorously). “You have to be really still,” Yuri commanded, trying to slip back into more familiar territory. He felt Otabek’s chest rumble with a chuckle.

“Okay,” the other man agreed easily, and Yuri let himself slide down further into the couch, closing his eyes and letting the music wash over him. Otabek had been annoyingly right, it seemed; Yuri already felt warmer, more comfortable with Otabek’s body heat comfortably close. The heaviness returned more quickly, this time, and Yuri yawned tiredly, the exhaustion of the day washing over him in a way that felt different than earlier. He was still tired, sure, but this time it was the warm, worn sort of tired; this time, he felt secure and content.

It was just because he was fucking warm now, okay.

As he started to drift, a familiar tune caught his ear. “Hey, I know this song,” he slurred, eyes still closed. The corner of his mind that was still awake railed at him for sounding so surprised; of course he knew one of the songs, he’d picked this record because he knew some of the group’s music.

“That so?” Otabek’s voice was warm and entertained from behind him, and Yuri sleepily leaned into it, turning over and tossing one arm over Otabek’s stomach, the other one curled into his own chest.

“Mmhm,” he responded contentedly, eyes still closed. The soothing notes trickled around them, and Yuri hummed tunelessly for a moment in response before making the effort to match pitch, humming along with the song.

_”I said come here baby, come a little closer_  
You’ll write words and I can be composer  
Let’s get a dog, an Irish red setter  
It’s all we need to get better  
It feels good to not be with a wannabe  
I am free whenever you’re in front of me  
All I need’s a fraction of your happy heart  
All I need is you.”

The lyrics were so mushy, Yuri thought as his last moments of consciousness swept over him, but somehow that didn’t seem like so much of a problem right now. Tucked in warm and comfortable with the person he trusted most in the world, mushy didn’t seem like such a dire insult.

He’d slipped too far towards sleep to notice when Otabek joined him, baritone hum quietly joining with Yuri as Yuri finally fell into a deeply relaxed slumber. A small smile slipped over Otabek’s face as Yuri’s hum trailed off and Yuri’s breathing evened out. Perhaps it was for the best that Yuri wasn’t awake to see Otabek looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the world as the song came to a close, hum shifting into quiet singing.

“You’ve got my heart, I’ve got your hand, so we are safe and sorted.”


End file.
